


Payback

by NothingSoDivine



Series: NSD Writes Homestuck [17]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Bulges and Nooks, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Payback, Poor Karkat gets the tables turned on him, Power Play, Riding, Tentabulges, Topping from the Bottom, WUZZLES!, Xeno, Xenobiology, and I'm so glad I did, cheers fellas, finished for a deadline, i tagged it anyways, theres kind of mildly graphic violence in this so idk, well actually more like Dave flips the tables right onto Karkat's head, yay deadlines haha yeah no fuck them theyre terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5120414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingSoDivine/pseuds/NothingSoDivine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Dave returned to human form and Karkat running around the meteor with all the smug which was once the rightful property of one Dave Strider, some people feel it's time to bring Karkat down a notch. Some people being Dave.<br/>Also there's the tiny matter of Dave's inability to stop thinking about Karkat's pants department.<br/>A direct sequel to <em><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4454486">Exploring</a></em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deletable_bird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deletable_bird/gifts).



\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGenetecist [CG] --

TG: yo karks

TG: come to the library ive got something for you

CG: IF YOU THINK I'LL BE SO COMPLETELY FUCKING RETARDED AS TO ACTUALLY GO TO THE FUCKING LIBRARY BECAUSE YOU ASKED ME TO, THINK A-FUCKING-GAIN.

TG: fine then ill just go back to my room and never tell you what my juicy wonderful surprise was

CG: OH COME OFF IT, STRIDER, WE BOTH KNOW THERE WASN'T ANY FUCKING SURPRISE.

CG: WAS THERE?

TG: guess youll never know now will you karkritter

CG:

TG:

CG: OKAY WHAT.

TG: okay what what

CG: WHAT WAS THE SURPRISE.

TG: nothing

TG: you said yourself there wasnt any surprise

CG: OH MUSCLEBEAST-FUCKING-SHIT, THERE WAS A SURPRISE AND WE BOTH KNOW IT.

TG: i dunno karkandy you seemed pretty damn skeptical do you maybe wanna reevaluate some life choices there before you start accusing me of telling the truth

CG: FUCK YOU, STRIDER.

TG: mm thats it baby thats good

TG: now tell me you hate me

CG: I DO.

CG: I REALLY FUCKING DO, STRIDER. I HATE YOU SO MUCH THAT IF HATE WERE A THING THAT THE TINY HUMAN EXCUSE FOR A THINKPAN COULD FULLY COMPREHEND, YOURS WOULD BE IN PIECES ACROSS YOUR RESPITEBLOCK WALL FROM THE SHEER MAGNITUDE OF MY LOATHING FOR YOU.

TG: oh

TG: ohh karkat

TG: mmn don't stop

CG: WHAT THE FUCK, STRIDER.

TG: ahhn yeah honey say my name again

CG: STRIDER.

TG: ooh baby

TG: keep talking

CG: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PLAYING AT.

TG: come to the library and ill show you

CG:

CG: FUCKING

CG: FUCK.

CG: YOU'RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE, AND I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY ABOUT THAT.

TG: oh i am babydoll

TG: believe you me

CG: DON'T FUCKING CALL ME "BABYDOLL." IN FACT, DON'T FUCKING CALL ME ANY OF YOUR STUPID ABSURD HUMAN PET NAMES. THEY'RE ALL FUCKING GROSS.

TG: sure thing karkalicious

CG: AARGH DO YOU WANT ME TO COME TO THE FUCKING LIBRARY OR NOT

TG: whether i want you to or not, youre going to anyways and we both know it

TG: so the fact that i do want you to is irrelevant

CG: FUCK YOU.

\-- carcinoGenetecist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

TG: heh love you too angelcakes

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> plot  
> and minor porn-ception  
> because dave watching porn in a porn fic  
> yeah  
> its one in the morning and im tired af could you tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHHHHH ITS NOT LATE WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT *casually deposits at 1AM two days late and backdates by two days* SHHHHHHHHHH ITS RIGHT ON TIME SEE I SAID FRIDAY

The bait has been laid; the prey has taken it. At this very moment, he is making his way into the looming, gleaming steel jaws of your elegantly crafted trap. And the best part? He knows it's a trap. He knows, and he's stepping into it anyways.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are currently laying in wait in the library.

> Dave: reminisce.

It's been nearly three weeks since you got turned into a troll and Karkat fucked your brains out. Three weeks, and you've been able to think only of two things.

> Do go on.

The first thing you've been unable to get out of your head is revenge. You've never been big on revenge, but ever since Karkat got you begging for his bulge, fucked you senseless, and stained you pink for a week from head to toe, you've been hard-pressed to think of much else.

Well, there is one other thing that's been able to keep your focus, but it's something you've been trying to avoid thinking about too much. Unfortunately, thinking about revenge always leads to you thinking about…

> Oh, come on, spit it out.

Fine. You can't stop thinking about Karkat fucking you.

> ==>

There is, of course, an obvious course of action to take when one has two related topics filling one’s head without reprieve. Not long ago, you put mind and junk together and realized something.

Revenge + fucking = revenge fucking.

Simple, really. If you want revenge, and you want a fuck, you make it a revenge fuck.

> ==>

However, there are a couple of things you have to take into account. There’s the culture thing, of course. And there’s the fact that you kind of don’t want to fuck anyone else on this rock. Or, for that matter… anywhere in Paradox Space. You kind of just want Karkat’s bulge up your ass.

… You really didn’t mean to put that phrase together.

Moving on.

> ==>

You’ve had already more than enough experience with the differences between troll culture and human culture to know not to take any similarities for granted. You’ve learned by now to take any cultural references with a grain of salt, so it’s natural for you to stop and think a minute before you do anything reckless like attempt a revenge fuck.

> Dave: Ponder.

Thinking tends to be kind of your MO, despite what Rose may say to the contrary, so you sat yourself down and had a little think. In executing the human definition of a revenge fuck, you’d have a problem. On the other hand, you had a sneaking suspicion that in troll, “revenge fucking” referred less to fucking someone else in revenge as to fucking the person who fucked you first to reassert yourself. If that makes any sense. It seemed like exactly the kind of reacharound power-play mindfuck trolls would get off on.

So, naturally, you had to do some research.

> Research, you say?

Research indeed.

> What kind of research?

Well, what better way to start ones research than the library? And when one needs advice selecting research materials, who better to ask than the librarian?

> Meaning…?

Yeahhhhh you asked your sister’s alien girlfriend for help.

> … Well then. 

Well, okay. In your defence, you didn't exactly have much choice. Terezi would have laughed you off, Gamzee’s off god knows where, and the only other troll here is Karkat. The options were Kanaya or nothing, and you knew for a fact that she had some potentially relevant literature. Sure, you may have been reluctant, but she was your best bet.

> Be Past Dave. 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --

TG: yo kanaya

TG: you busy

TG: not meaning to interrupt a snarky broads anonymous meeting if thats whats up but

TG: when youve got a minute

TG: i uh

TG: have something i need to ask you

TG: but first you have to promise not to tell doctor tentacle wizard kay

GA: Hello Dave

GA: I Must Say Rose Was Very Amused By Her Newest Title

GA: I Feel Compelled To Warn You That She May Use It In Future

TG: shit

TG: is she reading over your shoulder

TG: if she is

TG: rose

TG: fuck off

TG: this is between your ectobro and your tentaclebuddy

TG: nobody else

GA: Dave

GA: Its All Right

GA: She Is Not Reading This

GA: I Merely Forwarded Her Your Impromptu Nickname

GA: I Suspected She Would Find It Amusing

GA: Not To Mention Accurate

TG: aight aight thats enough

TG: lets not go into details regarding roses squirmy icky tentadong

TG: which may or may not be in fact attached to someone else who is a member of a species who actually possess squirmy icky tentadongs under normal circumstances not involving wacky ecto equipment

GA: Dave My Word

GA: That Digression Was Quite Spectacular

GA: One Might Even Say

GA: “On Point”

TG: see this is the other reason im asking you and not tz or clownfucker

TG: youre fuckin great anyone told you that

GA: I Believe Rose May Have Mentioned It

GA: Once Or Twice

GA: Under Certain Circumstances

TG: okay thats enough

TG: no more mentioning rose

TG: deal

GA: Certainly

GA: Now What Did You Wish To Ask Me

TG: ohhh

TG: uh

TG: this is gonna be awkward no matter which way i say it

TG: so uh

TG: basically

TG: i need relationship advice i guess

GA: Relationship Advice

GA: How Was That Awkward To Ask For

TG: you dont know what i need advice on yet

GA: Oh

GA: ...

GA: Um

GA: Well What Is It

TG: okay well i mean i kind of have this sort of plan going already a little

TG: but i kind of need to know this one thing in order for it to work

TG: so uh

TG: could you just

TG: idk

TG: uh

TG: do trolls have a thing called revenge fucking

TG: or idk

TG: revenge pailing i guess

GA: ...

GA: Should I Be Worried

TG: no

TG: well

TG: maybe mildly

GA: Why Do You Want To Know About Revenge Pailing

GA: Is This About Karkat

TG: what no why would you think that

GA: That Time You Were Stained Pink For Days

TG:  

TG: okay yeah its about that

TG: could you just answer the question

GA: All Right

GA: We Do Have "a thing called revenge fucking"

GA: Also Known As Revenge Pailing

GA: In Fact There Are Two Acts That Go By Those Names

GA: Shall I Explain Them

TG: yes please

TG: in short words if you can

GA: Ill Do My Best

TG: k thanks

TG: go on

GA: The Two Different Terms Generally Refer To One Or The Other Of The Associated Acts

GA: Revenge Pailing Refers More Often To The Quadrantally-Ambiguous Act Of Pailing Someone With Whom You Are Not In A Quadrant As Revenge On An Unfaithful Or Otherwise Unsatisfying Quadrantmate

GA: Revenge Fucking Tends To Mean The Nearly Exclusively Caliginous Act Of Fucking The Quadrantmate Who Originally Fucked You Over In A Way That Exacts Revenge

TG: tell me about that one

TG: humans have the pailing one

GA: Well

GA: To Put It Simply

GA: For A Kismesissitude To Function Properly It Is Necessary To Have A Constant And More Or Less Equal Exchange Of Power

GA: Its Like A War That You Dont Want To End

GA: And If In A Particular Encounter

GA: Or Battle In This Metaphor

GA: One Opponent Gains Significant Power Over The Other

GA: A Drastic Move Is Required To Balance The Power Scale Again

GA: Or Else The Kismesissitude Will Collapse

GA: From What Ive Gathered This Is Indeed The More Pertinent Of The Two To Your Current Predicament

TG: yeah thatll be the one i need

TG: now for my second question

GA: Oh Dear

GA: Yes

TG: oh miss lesbian vampire librarian

TG: or hey idk

TG: librariantagonist

TG: i need some research materials

GA: Relating I Presume To Our Earlier Discussion Of Exacting Revenge Through Sexual Encounters

GA: Particularly The Kind Not Involving A Third Party

TG: bingo

TG: give the woman a cigar

TG: you got anything

GA: I Certainly Do

GA: Would You Prefer To Do Your Research Using Literary Sources Or Slightly More Visual Means

TG: oh

TG: um

TG: wow

TG: how bout you lend me both and i can decide which ones work better

GA: Sounds Enlightening

TG: thats one word for it i guess

TG: now howm i gonna get them

GA: I Shall Leave Them Discreetly In The Library

GA: Behind The Gibberish Collection

TG: so rose took my name for the books in incomprehensible languages huh

GA: No

GA: But I Did

TG: aha

TG: sweet

TG: ill swing by and pick em up

GA: Take As Long As You Need With Them Dave

GA: One Novel Or Film Is Far Easier To Hide Than A Stack

TG: got it

TG: now go to

TG: hide your treasured horde

TG: and message me when youre done

GA: Im Done

TG: that was really fucking fast

GA: Of Course It Was

GA: Ive Been Setting Them Up Since You Messaged Me

TG: kanaya you saucy minx

GA: Im Well Clear Of The Library

GA: You May Drop In Any Time To Collect Your Research Materials

GA: Have Fun

\-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

TG: you saucy saucy minx

> Investigate research material.

Your next priority is to investigate your new stash of information. You may be the Knight of Time, but there isn't a second to lose.

Yeah, okay. You'll admit, you're pretty fucking excited.

> Be a ninja. 

You are now Dave Strider, Porn Ninja Extraordinaire. Having made your speedy trip to the library, you are currently browsing your own personalized alien porn hub.

Of course, the titles are all in Alternian.

> Call for reinforcements. 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --

TG: yo kankan

TG: minor problem

TG: im not fluent in alternian

GA: Oh Dear

GA: One Moment

\-- grimAuxiliatrix is an idle troll! --

GA: All Right

GA: Try Combining One Of The Novels With An English Dictionary

GA: The Dictionaries Can Be Found On The Shelf To The Left Of The Coffee Machine

GA: Second Shelf From The Top

TG: k thanks

TG: wait

TG: how did you figure that out

GA: Rose Has Translated Many Of Her Novels Into Alternian For My Benefit And Vice Versa

GA: I Simply Asked How

TG: you didnt tell her why did you

GA: Of Course Not Dave

GA: I Would Have No Reason To Betray You To Someone Who I Know Perfectly Well Would Be More Than Happy To Psychoanalyze You To Death

TG: yeah

TG: thanks

TG: i should probably give you more credit

TG: you do know what rose is like about this stuff

TG: anyway thanks

GA: Not At All

GA: Im Excited To See How This All Turns Out

TG: heh

TG: me too

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --

> ==>

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --

TG: yo kan

TG: sorry to bother you

TG: again

TG: but uh

TG: two very important questions

GA: Hello Again Dave

GA: Its No Bother At All

GA: I Enjoy Hearing From You

GA: With What Can I Assist You This Time

TG: first

TG: does the dictionary thing work on movies

GA: Certain Alternian Films Were Released With English Subtitles Optional

GA: Nobody Ever Understood Why

GA: I Suspect This Was The Reason

GA: As From What Ive Seen Every Alternian Film Present In DVD Format On This Meteor Has English Subtitles

GA: I Dont Know Who Knew Or Why They Did But I Know That Paradox Space Is Almost Certainly Strange Enough For That To Be True

TG: that

TG: is actually really creepy

TG: but also really fucking handy

TG: so second question

TG: whats with the creepy crawlies

GA: I Assume You Mean The Grubs

TG: yeah them

GA: Theyre Called USGs

GA: Which If I Remember Correctly Stands For Universal Serial Grub

GA: Most Trolls Call Them Memory Or Data Grubs

GA: They Transfer Information From Computer To Computer

TG: oh i get you

TG: so these lil guys have more stuff on em

TG: what sort of stuff

TG: videos

GA: Among Other Things

GA: I Color Coded Them For Your Convenience

GA: The Red And Orange Grubs Contain Text Files

GA: Those Files Are More Of The Short Story Genre Than The Novel Genre

GA: The Blue Green And Yellow Grubs Are Compilations Of Shorter Video Files

GA: The Violet Grub Is Audio Files

TG: well now

TG: thats quite the selection there

TG: im not going to recognize anyone in any of these files am i

GA: No Absolutely Not

GA: If I Had Such Materials I Would Never Divulge Them

GA: One Cannot Put A Price On Privacy

TG: damn straight

TG: so how do the grubs work

GA: Insert The Tapered End Into Any Information Port On A Husktop

GA: I Dont Know The Specifics Im Afraid

TG: thats alright

TG: yknow what imma just stick one of these into a usb port and see what happens

TG: i think ill go alchemize a new laptop first tho

TG: oh hey they have feelers

TG: no hey lil dude thats not a gadget for you to stick your bits in

TG: thats my finger

TG: bro this thing is sick i love it

TG: anyways

TG: thanks kanaya

TG: youre the best

TG: me n my lil squirmy buddies are gonna go make some computers

GA: Have Fun

GA: Message Me If You Have More Questions

TG: i was going to

GA: I Know

GA: I Just Thought I Might As Well Say It So You Would Feel Completely Entitled To Do So

GA: Rather Than Just Mostly Entitled

TG: kanaya maryam hidden sass master ladies n gents

TG: peace out gurl

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --

> Be Kanaya.

You are now Kanaya Maryam, and you're smiling as you set down your handheld communication device and turn back to your matesprit. Rose is sitting on her concupiscent platform in her rumblesphere holder and panties, legs crossed so her feet are tucked beneath her. Her instrument - violin; what a beautiful name for it - is tucked under her chin. You're so glad she started playing again. Despite the times her fingers fumble on the strings, you love to hear her creating music.

“And what did my dear brother want?” Rose inquires, plucking her way up a scale. Her bow rests beside her on the platform. You didn't tell her you were speaking to Dave.

“That, my dear, is between your ectobro and your tentaclebuddy, nobody else,” you inform her sweetly, placing your hands on either side of her hips. She snatches up her bow to keep it safe.

“Those are his words,” Rose states. She doesn't ask because it isn't a speculation.

“Play something,” you say. You know she will. It was a request, even if not obviously so.

She raises her bow. You sink to your knees next to the platform. She's just within reach.

Her bow touches the strings, and you inhale like you can smell the music. As Rose begins to play, you lean in.

She falters. “Kanaya…” It's a warning. You don't heed it.

“Keep playing,” you tell her, and this time it's an order. Her finger fumbles a string, but she keeps going.

Your Trollian pings, once, twice, three times. You ignore it.

Dave can wait.

> ==>

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --

TG: yo kan

TG: so the grub things will work in any port ive tried

TG: k thats all

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --

> Be Dave.

As you can no longer be Kanaya, you switch back to being Dave, to find yourself sitting in your room on your bed with three shiny-new laptops and a handful of candy-coloured grubs, scrolling back up through your previous conversations with Kanaya. Pulling up the hitherto completely unused Notes app on your iShades, you jot down a quick reference list of which colour grub has what on it. Closing the note, you then turn back to your personal petting zoo of computer bits. Selecting a particularly stubby yellowy-green grub, you pick up a laptop and slide the tapered end into a USB port, giving the ring around that end a little squeeze.

Instantly, the tapered end of the grub unfurls into a mass of tiny, delicate feelers, which burrow carefully into the laptop’s port, pulling the grub along with until the ring around it stops it. The grub lets out a series of chirps, a line of diamond-shaped patches on its back lighting up in sequence.

You navigate the laptop to the grub drive. The file names are a little garbled, but for the most part comprehensible. Thankfully, they seem to be abridged versions of the title. You select one entitled “Rust-Olive-Powerplay(CAL).cont_3psc2ch2mr(pf).9plus_explicitpsc-mgore-statusk-uniformk-hspr.mov”, slip on your headphones, pop the escaping grubs back into your sylladex, and settle in.

Once you've sped through the four minutes of title, you quickly discover that this particular film isn't fucking around. Or, rather, that it is, and with remarkably little preamble. It opens on a fairly graphic scene of a slim troll with green eyes, sharp horns, and enormous hands forcing a shorter, broader, stockier-horned troll to his knees. You're suddenly incredibly glad you didn't open any of these in public. You set the laptop down and roll onto your stomach.

Skinny Troll hisses something that sounds like a mouthful of knives demanding submission. Your dick twiches interestedly. He sounds like Karkat. Fuck.

Bara Troll snaps back, but Skinny gets his hand around one of Bara’s horns, right at the red-velvet base, and fucking wrenches his head back. Bara cries out, and you have to stifle a sympathetic groan as your every nerve thrums with the memory of agonizing pleasure. This lying on your stomach thing is going to end very badly.

> So fix it.

Shut the fuck up, narrator. Who fucking asked you. Wait until the goddamn movie’s over, for fuck’s sake.

> Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’ll just go, then.

SHHHHHHHH.

> ==>

You direct your attention away from the obnoxious command line and back to the computer screen just in time for the camera to switch to a shot of Bara Troll opening his mouth for Skinny’s bulge (which is just as long and skinny as the rest of him, thank goodness.) You catch a frankly horrifying glimpse of approximately thirty-two gleaming sharp reasons why that’s a fucking terrible idea, but then Skinny’s bulge is slipping between Bara’s lips, between those evil chompers, and suddenly you’re faced with a really very pressing need to not be lying on your stomach any more – pressing enough even to tear your gaze away from the tentafellatio on your screen.

You should be weirded out, you think to yourself absently, sitting up and adjusting yourself in your god tier pj bottoms as Bara’s eyes flutter shut onscreen. (You can see the way his throat convulses as he fights against his gag reflex. You try and fail to not be turned on by it.) In any other situation, you likely would be weirded  out, at least a little. But you spent time in one of those meatsuits; you know how incredibly fucking intense it is to have your horns manhandled, you know how sensitive a bulge is in direct comparison to your human dick, you know the hot slick danger of Karkat’s mouth as he kissed you, the feeling of his flesh giving way under your teeth, of his claws puncturing the skin over your hipbones as he plowed into you from behind…

You swallow hard, shifting back so you’re leaning against your headboard before reaching down to adjust yourself again. This time, you don’t bother removing your hand.

Your headphones are good enough that when Skinny snarls something clearly identifiable as a string of curses, you shudder like Karkat’s growling them into your ear. You blink hard, take a couple deep breaths to calm yourself, and train your focus back on the screen. This is research. You have to pay attention.

Bara makes a little choked noise, and you somehow find it within yourself to apply a couple of brain cells without removing your hand from its rather comfortable place on your dick. Skinny’s growling like a good heavy bass riff; your mind flicks momentarily back to what Karkat said about submissive frequencies, how the upward crawl of your own throat gave away how much you wanted him to just fucking _ruin_ you. So Skinny holds the power here, with his bulge down Bara’s throat. Fair enough – familiar enough – but you’re afraid you’ll be omitting that particular tactic from your end strategy. Much as you’d love to get the slick architectural masterpiece of Karkat’s maw around your spam porpoise and shut him up for a minute or seven, you are _so_ not risking it with those teeth in the equation.

Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the show, though, particularly once you’ve effectively decided you don’t have to pay too much attention to that aspect. You’re just getting into your stride when Skinny shoves Bara away and wraps his own hand around his bulge.

Bara is talking, maybe pleading, words falling at the speed of light. You’re not sure what he’s begging for, but whatever it is, the closeup of his face assures you he is in no way happy when Skinny grabs his horn and tips his head back, pinching the tip of his own bulge between two fingers – _ow?!?_ – and aiming his veritable tsunami of green genetic material all over Bara’s face.

> Holy fuck.

You can’t even be bothered to complain about the command line butting in again. You’re too busy gaping at the flood of green dripping down Bara’s face and shoulders. The camera even zooms out to let you truly appreciate the amount of material dripping from his hair, rolling in drops down his chest, sliding down his arms.

“Fuck,” you breathe, awed into near-silence by the sheer _volume_ Skinny just came. If trolls ever came to Earth, they would make a fucking _fortune_ in bukkake, easy.

Bara spits out the material sliding into his mouth. You feel a surge of sympathy for the poor bastard. You don’t know how easily that shit stains, but you have a feeling it’s already too late to wash it all off. He’s going to be green for a while.

Skinny says something, breaking into your train of thought, and you realize detatchedly that you’ve been distracted from coming. Bara blinks his eyes open carefully, replies in a perfect example of what a truly hammered throat sounds like. The look in his eyes is, if you’re reading it correctly, genuine worry under a thin veneer of scorn.

Skinny spits on the floor and leaves, tossing a final scathing remark over his shoulder. A heavy door slams shut. Bara wipes the worst of the mess off his already-stained face, licks a smear off his palm, and heads out, you assume to shower.

You really start to wish for subtitles during the next two scenes, as they consist mostly of dialogue. In the first of the two, Bara Troll, whose name you make a guess as being Ashaan, whines to his moirail – you assume she’s his moirail, at least, what with the way she shooshpaps the living shit out of him when he starts crying over how Skinny Troll kicked his ass. His moirail, who reminds you of a cactus (small and round and prickly), gives him some advice, and he stops crying, gives her lots of hugs (ouch) and several cavity-inducing kisses, and takes off, cursing because he just checked the time and he’s late for something or other.

The following scene starts with Skinny Troll and his hearts-girlfriend flopping down onto a couch just post-orgasm. They have a brief chat, you assume about Skinny and Ashaan’s relationship being endangered by the current power imbalance; you pinpoint Skinny’s name as being Kaudel; and his athletic-looking girlfriend proposes round two, which fades to black fairly rapidly.

You pause there to grab something to drink.

> Hurry upppppppp, Dave.

Less than a minute later, you settle back into your spot, laptop on your knees and water bottle tucked safely away into your sylladex between data grubs. You shift until your butt is resting comfortably _not_ on your cape, grab your water back out of your sylladex, and press play.

> ==>

Kaudel gets a phone call from Ashaan. You understand approximately jack shit of what he’s saying – no surprises there; you wish again for subtitles – but the tone of authority in his voice is crystal clear, language barrier be damned. When Kaudel hangs up, the expression his face lands in is a blend of relief, excitement, and irritation that would probably have confused you to no end if it wasn’t for Kanaya’s ever-so-helpful explanation earlier about the necessity of balanced power in a kismesissitude.

When Ashaan pops into Kaudel’s place later, he finds Kaudel seated casually in an armchair. At Ashaan’s entrance, he looks up and cuts off his greeting midsentence.

Ashaan is standing in the doorway, and he seems to completely fill it. He’s in some sort of military uniform, fancy enough to be relatively high-ranking. If he’s a rustblood, you think you should probably be pretty impressed by that; aren’t rustbloods basically considered the scummiest-blooded trolls on the entire spectrum?

Kaudel and Ashaan exchange words. You’re sure if you spoke Alternian you’d be getting a novel’s worth of subtext. As it is, all you’ve got to go on is the hungry way Kaudel is looking at Ashaan’s uniform. You grew up with the kinkiest motherfucker this side of Paradox Space; you know the look of someone looking at their favourite wet dream come to life, and that’s the look Kaudel’s training on Ashaan’s uniform and the shiny decorative look-I’m-important pins on his shoulders.

Lots of words are had. You’re not sure if it’s dirty talk or mock-casual conversation, but you’re leaning towards the latter. Then Ashaan runs a hand through Kaudel’s hair, and Kaudel practically jizzes himself when Ashaan follows the touch with an order in one of the best Don’t Fuck With Me voices you’ve ever heard.

> ==>

You can’t help yourself; you watch in avid, uninterrupted fascination as Ashaan forces Kaudel to the floor and rides him until they both come, before prying Kaudel’s legs apart and starting to fuck him. It doesn’t take a behavioral psychologist to tell when Kaudel starts getting close; he wraps his legs around Ashaan’s hips and digs his claws into Ashaan’s shoulders, drawing eight streams of dark red blood from his grey skin. And Ashaan, the merciless bastard, pries Kaudel’s pointy bits out of his flesh (more blood), extricates himself from Kaudel’s legs, and pulls out.

Kaudel starts screaming, panting curses and probably some really inventive ones, at that, trying to get Ashaan back in his nook, but Ashaan molests Kaudel’s horns and he goes limp for long enough that Ashaan can pry his legs back apart, meeting absolutely no resistance, and get his mouth all up close and personal with Kaudel’s nook. You suspect Kaudel’s language gets filthier at the attention; it certainly seems to frustrate him to no end, especially when Ashaan manages to get him to come.

Kaudel’s cry when he comes doesn’t even sound like one of pleasure; it sounds like he’s in agony, like it hurts like a knife to the gut. You remember the way arousal started to almost burn deep in your nook until Karkat started fucking you, and everything south of your sternum clenches in sympathy. God, you can’t even _imagine_ that, but if you were to try you’d probably estimate something resembling blue balls, but exponentially worse.

Ashaan gets up. Kaudel is literally sobbing now, and you’re fairly sure you see tears. Ashaan moves to stand over him, working his bulge with one hand and the base of his horn with the other. His body releases both quantities of genetic material at the same time, drenching Kaudel’s shaking form with an entire bucket’s worth of red and green sludge. Kaudel doesn’t even try to fight, doesn’t try to knock Ashaan down, just lies there shuddering while Ashaan makes a mess of him.

Ashaan takes a minute to catch his breath, and you take the opportunity to catch yours. Then Kaudel makes a pained noise, and your attention returns to the screen. Ashaan is helping Kaudel to his feet, expression a deliberate balance of elation and genuine concern. The poor guy can barely walk; Ashaan helps him limp to his own block, but that’s as far as he goes. He leaves Kaudel leaning against the doorjamb with a smack to the ass and a mocking peck on the cheek. Kaudel retaliates with a good solid backhand, then stumbles into his block once Ashaan leaves. The credits start rolling.

> Look at another.

You don’t even wait for the credits to finish; you’re already scrolling through the files on the memory grub, looking for another that sounds worthy. Your mind is racing at a million miles an hour; ideas are spawning like rabbits. You open another video and take a swig of water. You’re in for a very long, very interesting night.

> Fast forward.

You sink easily into each story you’re given as they fly by. Every plot you pick is pretty similar: one kismesis throws the other down, _hard_ ; the one losing gets advice from a quadrantmate slash finds their spine; then the loser becomes the winner through some often cruel dom/sub dynamic shit, usually, it seems, orgasm denial.

Bit by bit, from the shithive of your brain emerges some useful detrius, pieces of flotsam that you fish out of the muck and set carefully aside. From this pile, you begin, slowly and ever-so-meticulously, to construct your revenge.

Which is how you end up here – lying, lounging, _waiting_ on one of the library’s couches. Your shades are firmly in place; the library is deserted besides yourself, and will be, barring Karkat’s arrival, for quite some time. Your palms are sweating. You’re ready for this. You’re ready for this. You’re so not ready for this.

> ==>

The transportalizer sounds. You swallow the urge to sit up, to confront him, to meet him face to face. Instead, you lie where you are, pulse throbbing – fear, anxiety, anticipation, excitement, arousal – and legs draped over the arm of the couch, kicking slightly, the picture of nonchalance. You’re cool. You’re so cool.

> ==>

Karkat peers over the back of the couch, leaning his folded arms on it and glaring down at you.

“What,” he demands.

You keep your face on. Deep breath. Hold.

“Hey, Karks,” you greet. You’re made of stone.

Karkat’s fingers grip the cushion by his elbow. His claws tear the fabric. You can practically see the spades swimming in the depths of his pupils.

No going back now.

It’s fucking _on_.

> ==>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really very sorry it's late :/ and chapter three is my GOAL for today and it will be posted A FUCKING SAP  
> this isnt betaed or even proofed so *toss* HAVE AT THEE srsly tho it would rly help me out here if you want to be nitpicky and point out all my typos much thank ily all


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and now they fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS I DID IT

If you could somehow keep from wanting Dave Strider, you would be unable to ask for more from the remainder of your gross, miserable existence.

You can deal with your blood, okay, you can deal with wanting on a fairly regular basis to drain yourself dry and be finally fucking rid of the colour. You can deal with facing romantic failure everywhere you turn, what with Terezi on one side and your pathetic excuse for a moirallegiance with Gamzee on the other, and now with the two of them in a kismesissitude that’s bound to destroy one if not both of them. Even being one of the six remaining members of your entire goddamn species, stuck on a rock hurtling through void at light speed pursued by omniscient green barkbeast-alien hybrids and in the company of fifty percent of the survivors of some other universe’s apocalypse, okay, you can deal with that. You can handle it.

But you cannot, cannot, _cannot_ handle, on top of all that, the fact that you’re falling for Dave fucking Strider.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are emotionally compromised.

> ==>

Your Trollian pings. It’s Dave. Of course it’s Dave, you haven’t fucking finished talking to him yet. Who the fuck else would it be. He’s the only one you talk to nowadays, anyway.

> Karkat: Answer Dave.

Dave is being a fuckwad again. As per usual. You sigh.

CG: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PLAYING AT.

TG: come to the library and ill show you

CG:

CG: FUCKING

CG: FUCK.

CG: YOU'RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE, AND I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY ABOUT THAT.

TG: oh i am babydoll

TG: believe you me

CG: DON'T FUCKING CALL ME "BABYDOLL." IN FACT, DON'T FUCKING CALL ME ANY OF YOUR STUPID ABSURD HUMAN PET NAMES. THEY'RE ALL FUCKING GROSS.

TG: sure thing karkalicious

CG: AARGH DO YOU WANT ME TO COME TO THE FUCKING LIBRARY OR NOT

TG: whether i want you to or not, youre going to anyways and we both know it

TG: so the fact that i do want you to is irrelevant

CG: FUCK YOU.

\-- carcinoGenetecist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

> ==>

You close the chat with a click that in no way conveys the amount of anger you’re feeling. You wish you had some sort of punchable husktop, so that when you were angry over Trollian it _showed_.

Then again, you’d probably break your hand pretty fast if you punched things every time you wanted to. Also all your friends would be missing teeth.

> Go to the library.

Aw, fuck no. You are not letting Strider best you at this game. You’re staying right the fuck where you are, thank you very much.

> ==>

Okay yeah this is boring.

> Entertain yourself.

The first thing you turn to is your novel collection. But you’ve already read everything you own, at least four times, since you arrived on the meteor. You should probably make a trip to the…

Fuck.

> Plan B.

You reach for your movie collection instead, skimming through the titles for something you haven’t seen four billion times already. You can’t find one. The rest of your collection is with Kanaya’s, in the…

 _Fuck_.

> Plan C.

You don’t _have_ a Plan C, douchenozzle. You have a Plan A and a Plan B. You never bothered making a Plan C. Hell, you don’t even know what you’d _do_ for a Plan C.

> Brainstorm.

You try and think. All you want to do is go to the library and find out what the fuck Dave wants, but there’s no way you’re going to. You _can’t_. That would be letting him win, and if there’s one thing you absolutely do not want to do, it’s let Dave win.

You could start writing, you guess. You’ve considered it a couple of times, but you know you’d be terrible. You don’t think you’re desperate enough for entertainment to start now. You could reread one of your novels, or rewatch one of your movies, but you’ve barely started flicking back through the titles when you cave and admit that, okay, you’re fucking sick of every single one of them. You’ve read them all, seen them all, too many times to count. You can’t seem to find it in you to watch something over again when you’ve learned it so well you could declaim every line in perfect unison, and when you can recite a novel word for word it’s time to either burn the thing or lock it away for several sweeps until you forget some of it. You’ve beaten all the highscores on the limited selection of games on your husktop, you’ve nearly blown it up twice with some ill-advised angry coding, and you’ve gone through and color-coded all your old junk files that you’re keeping for literally no reason whatsoever. The only other thing you can think of to do is masturbate, and even if you were in the mood, it’s such a fucking _hassle_. You’d have to get a bucket, and you’d have to get out your concupiscent bladder and fill it and you can’t even remember where you put the damn thing, it’s been so long, and besides that would make you think of Dave and the whole point is trying not to think about Dave because if you’re thinking about Dave you’re wondering why he wants you in the library and it’s eating at you until you can’t think of anything else.

You check the time. It’s been three minutes.

 _Fuuuck_.

> Be Dave.

You are now Dave Strider, and you are laying on your back on one of the library couches, legs hanging over the armrest. Karkat is leaning over you, scowling too hard for it to be unintentional.

You’re not sure what to do now. You’ve got him here, okay, great. Now where do you want him.

So you let him make the next move. Let him think you called him here just to fuck with his head, just to prove that you could. That’ll fuck him up.

> Be Karkat.

You are now back to being Karkat, and you’re only getting angrier.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Strider,” you growl, claws gouging the back of the couch. Strider looks like a fucking tool lying on his back like that, not to mention abhorrently stupid. Doesn’t he fucking know how vulnerable he is like that, with his whole underbelly exposed, his whole throat, everything soft and destroyable stretched out like an invitation. Your mouth waters. He actually looks pretty tasty. And hey, if you eat him, you don’t have to put up with his annoying everything. You’re not sure how your thinkpan decided it was okay to switch tracks from “potential concupiscent partner” to “potential meal”, but you’ll roll with it. You wonder if eating him would be justified enough to permanently kill him. There’s no way he’d get off with being credited as heroic, not with how far he’s pushed you. You push the big bad barkbeast, you get a chunk out of your underbelly. That’s how it works.

> Be Dave.

You know he can’t see your eyes, which is an advantage you’ve never been gladder to have. You’re sprawled out like he’s not a member of a potentially cannibalistic species covered in pointy bits for gouging, shirt riding up just far enough to expose your navel and arms jumbled loosely by your head. Your eyes are busy travelling between danger points – claws, sharp elbows, teeth, eyes to gauge mood, fangs. Your pulse is racing.

Karkat’s eyes flick to your throat, to the exposed sliver of your stomach, back to your throat again. You pretend to roll a crick out of your neck, baring it further. Karkat licks his lips convulsively. You wait.

> Be Karkat.

“I asked you a question,” you say. Your voice has dropped from a growl to a purr. You can see his pulse jumping beside his bared windpipe.

“So you did,” he replies coolly. You can’t get any sort of reading from him. It’s like he’s made of stone. Tasty, squishy stone, with lots of really mouthwatering scent glands. He’s got no claws, no fangs, nothing to defend himself. He’s prey.

> Be Dave.

You don’t say another word; just lie there, adrenaline freewheeling through your system, watching Karkat with the eyes of something with really frenetically attentive eyes and a desperate desire to not be gutted. He’s looking at you like he wants to eat you. You really hope he doesn’t manage to.

You wait. You know he’ll run out of patience eventually. He’s here, isn’t he?

> Be Karkat.

Fuck, this is awful. He’s not _doing_ anything.

If there’s one thing you hate most, it’s waiting. Growling, you turn and pace away from the couch, around one of the bookstacks.

> Be Dave.

He’s gone. Well, that’s…

Something. You can still hear him, growling under his breath and muttering curses to himself. He hasn’t left the library. Good. You weren’t sure if he would.

You strip off your cape and shirts, minimize the amount of clothing you can get caught in the inevitable tussle. Capes may look fucking awesome, but they’re shit for close-range fighting. The shirts just look weird without the cape.

You keep waiting. You’re good at waiting.

Karkat isn’t. You wait.

> Be Karkat.

You’re cursing when you lean against the bookcase, trying to come up with some sort of plan. You suck at waiting. You fucking hate waiting. Why is he making you wait?

Because you hate waiting. He wants you to make the first move.

So he’s uncertain. He’s at a loss. That makes you feel a little better.

You unlace your shoes, tug them off your feet, peel off your socks. Your blood is racing; you take off your sweater, drop it on top of your footwear. You’re left in a tank top and jeans; you drop into a crouch, stalking silently around the bookcase on all fours. As if on cue, the nearest light flickers out, leaving the area bathed in dusky gold. Perfect hunting light.

You push off, running forward and catapulting yourself over the back of the sofa.

> Be Dave.

Karkat’s quiet, but you’re used to quiet. Your Bro was quiet sometimes. Usually he was silent. When he was quiet it was on purpose.

You hear Karkat’s footsteps speed up, and when he comes flying over the back of the sofa, you’re braced for impact. As he lands – just far enough over to be off-balance; one hand hooked on the back of the couch, the other and his feet poised, feline – you grab at his side, dig your nails into a grubscar, and use your grip and his momentum to get him to the floor.

> Be Karkat.

The noise you make when Dave lands on you sounds like pleasure. His grip on your grubscar burns. Your bulge throbs with it.

Fuck. Your bulge seems to have trouble telling the difference between prey and partner. For that matter, your thinkpan seems to be a terrible judge on that one.

You’re still trying to breathe when Dave grabs a handful of hair and horn, twists your head back against the floor (throatthroatthroat), and bites.

> Be Dave.

Your head goes crystal clear when Karkat yips like you stepped on him, clawing at your sides. His talons open gashes right over your kidneys. The pain cuts through the fog of sudden arousal like nothing else, and you jerk your head back, tugging viciously at the chunk of muscle between your teeth. You hope it tears.

Karkat squirms, too disoriented by your hand on his horn to put up a decent fight. You squeeze it, and he digs his claws into your sides so deep you’re forced to let go for fear of losing organs. Your hands snap to his wrists, pulling his hands out of your flesh as you spit him out. It hurts, but something’s fucked your brain over sideways, because it burns brightest right where your nook once was.

Karkat tosses you, and you roll right onto your already-closing wounds, shades skittering away. You’re up on all fours when he pounces on you, and you let his momentum roll you both over again, landing hard on your back with him under you. You grind your hips into him; his bulge unsheathes against your ass, and you groan despite the stinging of the four puncture marks closing above each hip. He bites your shoulder; your head falls back beside his, neck begging for a mark. His bulge squirms against the cleft of your ass. _God_ , you’ve been so desperate for this.

You kind of want Karkat to mention the way you’re grinding against him like it’s going out of style, call you desperate, a whore, something equally delicious, but he just grabs the inside of your thigh right above your knee and rolls you off him again. You land on all fours, but he elbows you in the ribs and you fall hard, impact juddering up from one shoulder/hip/ankle to the other. The heel of his hand catches you in the ribs right under your pectoral, and your head jars against the floor when you go down.

He’s straddling you in half a heartbeat, and your heart is fucking racing. He grinds down against you. You make a noise – frustration or pleasure, you’re not sure which. He grabs at your pants, tugs them down, leaves scratches down your hips. When he gets past your boxers he falters.

You shove him back, plant your heels in his thorax and kick him off. He goes stumbling across the room, half-upright, and hits a bookshelf. Every book on the other side goes tumbling. You take the opportunity to finish stripping, and you’re naked when Karkat gets back up.

He gawks. You dart forward and grab a handful of his hair, drag him back a couple steps. He snarls, swipes at your wrist. You bleed. When you release him and dance backward, he pauses to lick the blood from his fingertips.

You’re so hard it hurts. You feint at him, and he dodges, but your foot lashes out, hits the back of his knee. He crumples. You go down on top of him, landing with your knee on his chest. All the air leaves his lungs in a single noise. You straddle him, let him breathe while you tear at his fly.

He manages to catch his breath just as you shove his jeans and boxers down his hips. He props himself on his arms, tries to buck you off, but you wrap your hand around the base of his bulge, squeeze until his arms give out and he goes down again, head hitting the floor.

You worked yourself open earlier, three fingers and no mercy. You remove your hand from Karkat’s bulge, slide one slick fingertip in, out. Grab the end of Karkat’s bulge, put it where you want it. It does the rest.

You choke the first time it brushes your prostate, still working its way into you hard and hot and you burn at the stretch but it’s good, so good, you never knew what you were missing but now you know and you’re addicted to the feeling of Karkat’s bulge curling and twisting and pressing and stretching, god, it’s so good, and when it hits your prostate the second time you thrash. Karkat’s growling, waxing submissive, god, good, yes, _yes_ fuck it’s so good, and everything is bright and clear and sharp enough to cut in this moment, this one suspended instant where you have Karkat under you, Karkat between your legs, Karkat against your prostate, and one hand on your dick and one hand on Karkat’s chest, holding you up, and you ride him, ride him like you can’t control it, because you can’t, you can’t think, can’t do anything but feel and want and follow your own body where it takes you and _fuck_ Karkat fucking _fuck me!_

> ==>

You come fast, hot, hard, diamond sharp-bright-priceless. Karkat’s panting and incoherent beneath you, cursing his way in and out of comprehensibility. You pull off because his bulge won’t leave your goddamn prostate alone and he still hasn’t come, fuck, _yes_ , you win everything ever, and you’re laughing as you climb off him. Karkat snarls, black hate and spicy hot jealousy, and goes to gut you, no hesitation, not a second thought. Your blood is singing with adrenaline, keeping your reflexes up because you’re a fucking god but you would likely deserve that. You grab at his bulge and his claws skid across your stomach, not even drawing blood. You roll up onto your elbow, lean over him with predatory eyes. He trills.

You move down his body, stroke his bulge once, root to tip like the fucking tease you try so hard to be. A “fuck” spews from his mouth. You wrap your lips around his bulge – you know where it’s been, you’re clean, you don’t care – and swallow him down.

It’s like trying to swallow a snake. You do it anyways. He thrashes, bulge and body; you choke, gag, drool around him, keep going. Swallow hard; disciplinary. He cries out. You’ve practiced; your lips hit his sheath. You’d grin if you could. Karkat curses again.

“Fuck, Strider,” he manages, and you look up at him. Your hands are braced on the insides of his thighs. Your shades are across the room somewhere. You’ll have to get them when you leave. Your bangs are in your face. You look through them. Karkat chokes and looks away.

> Oh hell no.

You slide your tongue out of your mouth – a tight fit if ever there was one – and wriggle the tip into the crevice of his sheath. It clenches around the intrusion, two bone plates under his skin, and you retreat, but Karkat’s keening, bulge trying and failing to thrash in your throat. You swallow hard. You can’t breathe. The ringing starting up in your ears ebbs enough for you to catch your name.

“Fuck, Strider, fuck, fuck Dave,” Karkat sobs. You look up at him from under your eyebrows, flick one upward.

“Please,” he chokes, like it pains him to say it. You swallow once more, then slowly pull off, working his bulge out of your mouth until you’ve got some room to work with. Karkat’s cursing like a sailor and a trucker had a baby and that baby wrote a dictionary and Karkat learned to speak by reading it.

You close your teeth carefully (carefully _fuck_ ing carefully) around Karkat’s bulge, pull back. Your teeth drag over the most sensitive skin you’ve ever touched. Karkat falls out of cursing and into incoherent noise. When you hit the last inch, you close your lips over it too, greet it casually with your tongue, and _suck_.

Karkat comes like a tsunami, and you dodge inexpertly but very determinedly. The noise he tries to make jams his throat, and he goes silent for an infinite moment. Then he gasps raggedly, and you can’t help it, when he spreads his legs in blatant invitation you just have to bury your face in his nook.

He tastes like hell and it’s absolutely delicious. He moans – a human noise with a growl underneath that no human could ever make – and grinds his hips up into your mouth. You let him. You’d probably let him do pretty much anything right now, he looks so fucking wrecked and you feel kind of a little bit bad because you made him like that but it’s good but it’s kind of not and it’s complicated but he tastes _really fucking good_. His hands clutch at your hair. You’re getting covered in genetic material. Whoops.

His thighs clench around your face, once, twice, then he curses in something like horror and tightens his grip on your hair, tries to pull you away. You grunt, but he’s talking, “No, no, stop, Strider, fuck, you fucker, _stop_ ,” and stop means stop and consent is still consent so you pull away, and he drags you up to where he is.

“Fuck me,” he demands, and you crack a nasty candy-red grin.

“Sorry, Karks,” you tell him. “No can do.”

It takes a second to sink in. “What?”

“Haven’t got the equipment, Karma-kat,” you explain, burying a hand in Karkat’s scalp and scritching. Your hand is sticky. Ha. Wow you’re malicious today. “I’m all done.”

Karkat curses, goes to sit up. His horn knocks your hand, and you grab it to steady him as he crumples. He shudders and keens and basically turns into a puddle of goop, so you tighten your grip.

He doesn’t curse, for a change. Instead, he arches his back and pretty nearly pokes your eye out with his other horn, so hey, you grab it to keep your face intact and he clenches up and comes again.

> ==>

Well, fuck. You didn’t want to do that.

Karkat’s started shivering. Shit. Fuck. You didn’t want him to come again. Every orgasm that doesn’t bring relief brings pain; you didn’t want to inflict that on him. He didn’t humiliate you _that_ badly. You release his horns, set his head down gently. He shudders. You stand up.

“Hey, asshole,” Karkat snarls. He sounds like a wounded animal – in pain and dangerous for it. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You pause, choose your words carefully. “I was going to help you back to your room,” you decide after a second, “let you –” you wave a hand vaguely – “sort yourself out.”

“Fuck you,” Karkat snaps, “I can help my fucking self back to my goddamn block, thanks. You’re ruining the fucking moment, fuckwit.”

You clench your jaw, cock your head briefly in a terse _oh really now_ gesture. “In that case,” you say, grabbing your boxers and pulling them on, “fuck you too, and see you around.” You grab your god tier jammies from around the room, snatch up your shades, and abscond, wiping your pink-smeared face on your cape as you transportalize back to your room.

You don’t feel so bad about leaving the little shit in pain any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also not proofread so please go ahead

**Author's Note:**

> seriously this whole thing needs proofreading so if you're one of those anal-retentive types please anal-retentively nitpick this fic I shall be much obliged


End file.
